He was not okay. He had never been okay, was what he felt.
His breath shook with every air inhaled, his eyes watery from the stinging pain in his chest. 'I don't want it to end this way,' he thought.
He wanted more time, he told himself. In his mind, he dreamt.
He dreamt that he was sitting by the cliff, just a little too far from his family’s training grounds.
He dreamt that his little brother would be calling for his name, asking him to train together, to show Sasuke how to do “shuriken jutsu”, as his brother would always ask of him.
He dreamt that he could experiment with the rare ingredients, one cooking after another, one dish after another, just so he would know what Sasuke thinks of his cooking. Just so he could hear Sasuke tells him that tomatoes were his favourite food, that Sasuke did not like dango - though much to his dismay.
He dreamt that his mother would be calling him from the gates of the Uchiha compound. That he would hear her asking “how was your mission?” That he would hear her telling him to take a break as his body was on the verge of breaking down, burning out, exhausted beyond reasonable doubt.
He dreamt that he would sit on a tree, with his binoculars on, and watch the kids below him. Children of Sasuke’s age, playful banters, immature calls for competition, Sasuke telling his peers off as he “had things to do with his brother.”
He also dreamt that, in another life, Sakura’s hands were on her back, greeting him as she saw him by the window of his favourite teashop.
The Sakura whom he would see training with Sasuke, seeing his little brother muttering curses as Sasuke asked for chakra techniques from the girl.
The Sakura who spoke to him more of the random medical theories that she learned. The Sakura that spoke of hope for the children of war, that spoke of belief in Konoha’s healthcare system, a village free of hate, prejudices and unproven need to seek revenge.
A far fetching, hopeless and surreal dream, all at the same time, but a dream nonetheless, he thought as he laid alone in the dark, coughing whatever that remained in his lungs and he waited. Waited, and waited for the end of his time.
A far fetching, hopeless and surreal dream.
‘Forgive me,’ he whispered to no one.
This is it.